Grab It
by LadyLini
Summary: Jimmy decides that Castiel needs nothing more than to grab Dean's "butt." Destiel (duh). T for language. (Based off of the Tumblr post.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Based off of the infamous Tumblr post.**

**Disclaimer: This is a two step process. First, scroll up a bit. Is my username "Erik Kripke?" No? Alright then. Next step. Check the url of the website you're on. Is it a ****_fanfiction_**** website? Oh, I see! I must not own ****_Supernatural_**** or any of its characters… Pity.**

**Summary: Jimmy decides that Castiel needs nothing more than to grab Dean's butt. Destiel (duh). T for language.**

-o-O-o-

_Grab his ass._

The first time the demand was made, Castiel was standing in the corner of what used to be the living room of a nice house, but time had since done its job on the place and left only colors belonging to the gray-scale behind. Despite its undesirable appearance, the Winchesters had set up camp in it for the duration of their hunt.

Castiel was attempting to pay attention to Sam's mini-briefing, and that was absolutely what he was doing. He certainly wasn't using Sam's current distracted state to stare at Dean's ass. Nope. No way. He was an angel of the Lord. He was far too dignified to do anything of the sort.

_You heard me. Just grab it._

Jimmy had recently decided that Dean and Castiel needed to get their act together, and so he had taken it upon himself to "resolve the unresolved."

_Do it._

Castiel felt his cheek twitch in response to the internal conversation. "Shut up," he mumbled to Jimmy.

Sam turned his head away from the book he was using to illustrate his point in their ongoing _ghosts-are-ridiculous-douchebags _discussion. "What?" he asked, having sincerely not heard.

Dean glared at Castiel, having _very clearly_ heard what the angel had said to his little brother.

_Grab his ass. Right now. Just do it._

Castiel flinched again and felt his face heat up. "Nothing," he said in an attempt to cover for himself. "I was just… thinking aloud. What if we were to… shut… the ghost up… in a ring of salt?"

Sam and Dean looked at him as if he'd lost his marbles—again.

Dean spoke first. "You think it's going to just _hold still_ while we _'shut it up'_ in a _salt circle_?" he inquired sarcastically.

Castiel shrugged helplessly.

Sam nodded in agreement with his brother. "Call me old-fashioned, but I don't think that'll work."

After that, it took the Winchesters all of four minutes to conclude the discussion, pack up, and head out, Castiel following close on their heels.

_You missed your chance, man. _

-o-O-o-

The demand was reiterated twice a day for twenty-four days following the end of the ghost hunt. Forty-eight orders to "grab his ass" were, in Castiel's humble opinion, forty-eight too many.

Why couldn't Jimmy just stay silent the way he used to?

_Grab his ass._

It was thirteen days since the last time Castiel had met up with the Winchesters, a streak that had been broken by Dean calling him in for help on a werewolf case, as well as his own inability to tolerate Jimmy.

Castiel had hoped that through rejoining the Winchesters he'd given Jimmy enough of what he wanted that he'd relax with his demands, but it seemed that Jimmy was in no mood to give up. If anything, the proximity only made Jimmy worse.

_Please? With a cherry on top?_

Castiel was standing next to the Impala where it was waiting in the parking lot of one of the hundreds of nameless mini-marts the Winchesters frequented. Dean was inside—Castiel could just make him out paying for their food through the grimy front window—, and Sam was sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala, staring down at his laptop where it rested on his knees.

_Dude. I'll bet it'll be nice and firm. You know you want to… _

Castiel huffed in annoyance. He'd tried everything. Ignoring him, acknowledging him… everything except actually giving in to him. At this point, he'd circled back to "Ignore Jimmy" mode. It was easier than the alternatives.

_This is what God intended. This is your purpose. Grab his ass._

"Shut up," Castiel pleaded, the sentence punctuated by a sigh. The phrase had long since become one that he was far too practiced in uttering. "Just shut up. Please."

"Cas?" Sam asked, poking his head out of the Impala's window. "Who're you talking to?"

Maybe Castiel hadn't concealed the words as effectively as he'd thought. "No one," he replied, albeit too quickly.

Sam obviously wasn't buying it.

Castiel held his gaze steady a moment longer, then added, "Some angels on—I believe you call it 'angel radio'—have been… chattering. Loudly. It's become something of a nuisance."

"Ah," Sam said in a politely sympathetic tone, his expression that of someone entirely out of their depth of understanding. "That must be, uh—"

But Sam was saved from needing to come up with an appropriate response when Dean made his reappearance.

"I got pie!" Dean cried with a flourish, sliding into the driver's seat. "They had pie, Sammy!" He paused and glanced out the window at Castiel, who was still standing outside the rear-driver's-side-door. "You comin', Cas?"

Castiel started at the sound of his name. "Of course," he replied, as he popped the door open. He could feel Jimmy's frustration building in the back of his mind while he arranged himself in the backseat. He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the internal lecture he was about to receive

_Coward. It doesn't take any brains, just grab his dumb ass, dumbass! _

And so, it began.

-o-O-o-

Over the next few weeks, Sam and Dean began to notice when Jimmy was making his demand—the only thing the suppressed soul seemed to care about anymore—, but Castiel continued to play it off as "angle radio issues."

Dean would hold his stare for an extra second, as if unsure whether to accept his story or not, then shake his head and re-busy himself with whatever Castiel's flinch or soft plea of "shut up" had interrupted.

Sam, on the other hand, wouldn't let it go as easily. He liked to ask questions about the way in which angel radio worked, how there could be "technical difficulties" with a communication system _designed_ by—and for—angels, why Castiel couldn't just tune out and ignore it like he used to…

Occasionally, Castiel would walk into a room and the brothers would cut off their conversation so abruptly that he knew they had been talking about him.

Sam would look concerned, but as soon as he noticed Castiel, he'd all but throw the book he had in his hands at the nearest shelf. Dean didn't even try to hide the research they were doing—he left the few books they were able to find on angel sicknesses and ailments on tables and in the backseat of the Impala, perhaps to let Castiel know that he knew something was going on. Maybe that was Dean-speak for "I'm worried about you."

Yet Castiel couldn't find it in himself to care all that much. It wasn't like they'd ever be able to guess what was truly bothering him, though he did find it sweet that they both cared so much about him and his wellbeing.

But Jimmy was wearing him down. Soon, Castiel knew, he would have to give in to him, if only to_ make_ him shut up. But not yet. Not yet.

Soon, though.

-o-O-o-

_Grab his ass._

The flinch.

_Grab his ass._

A muttered "shut up."

_Grab his ass._

Sam and Dean gave him that funny look.

_Grab his ass._

Castiel opened his mouth to spout some nonsense about angel radio and its ongoing issues.

But this time—this time, he didn't. He couldn't seem to make words, much less sounds, come out of his mouth. Castiel simply stood there, halfway down the main hallway of the— literally—haunted house, and stared at Dean. Or, more specifically, he stared at his ass.

The lights, already dim from old-age, flickered once.

_Grab his ass._

A floorboard creaked somewhere upstairs.

_Grab his ass._

They were probably in imminent danger.

_Grab his ass._

Dean stared back at Castiel, his confusion written plainly across his face.

_Grab his ass._

There it was.

Castiel snapped. He really, truly snapped. He, Castiel, angel of the Lord, took the two necessary steps forward.

Dean still seemed confused, but Castiel didn't much care. He simply reached his hand out, slowly, resisting all the while, and grabbed a fistful of the ass in question.

Then, with a voice more commonly heard exiting the mouth of practiced opera singer, Castiel shrieked, _"Are you happy now?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Due to popular request, a sequel has been written! Celebrate at your own leisure.**

**Disclaimer: Would I really be on a fanfiction site if I owned the show or any of its characters?**

**Summary: Jimmy decides that Castiel needs nothing more than to grab Dean's butt. Destiel (duh). T for language.**

-o-O-o-

At first, there was nothing but silence.

Dean did nothing but stare at Castiel in shock.

Castiel's eye twitched.

Sam looked bewildered, yet hopeful.

Jimmy did the mental equivalent of the Macarena.

"Dude…" Dean managed, mouth still slightly agape. His grip on his sawed-off had loosened considerably.

Castiel swallowed but didn't move. He seemed to be frozen. "Jimmy was very… persistent," he said by way of explanation.

Dean had just enough time to ask, "Who's Jimmy?" before the ghost reappeared.

After that, the scene dissolved from one more commonly seen in romantic-comedies to one of chaos. The ghost was in the middle of the room, surrounded by a cloud of debris it was tearing up from the floor and walls. Its eyes glowed purple, and its mouth was spread open wide in order to accommodate the manic laugh emanating from it.

Sam had been thrown against the wall at some point in the initial confusion, and Dean had already charged the ghost.

Castiel still stood where he'd been before the ghost had arrived, relishing in the sudden peace in his head; Jimmy had ceased his yelling, though he did wonder if the Macarena would ending up being any improvement at all.

There was an _oompf_ from the other side of the room, and through his peripheral vision, Castiel saw Dean go flying into the far wall.

The _thud_ Dean made when he landed against his brother on the floor drew Castiel's attention back to his present circumstances. He turned to the ghost, who grinned at him in anticipation. Castiel sighed. "Be gone," he ordered it.

And with a flash of bright yellow light, the ghost was put to rest.

After that, all it took was two fingers to each of the Winchesters' foreheads to get them back into standing positions.

The first thing Sam did when he came around was turn to Dean and say, "I told you so."

Dean blinked blearily, still slightly disoriented. "What?" he mumbled. He squinted in the brightness of the sunlight pouring through one of the shattered window panes and turned his face away from the direct light.

Sam glanced over at Castiel, and his hand twitched at his side, as if to say _he's right there_.

Dean heaved a long suffering sigh and wiped a hand over his face, as if this was a topic they'd been over frequently before. "If you're so convinced he's—" Dean cut off, as if unable to finish the sentence. "You ask him."

Castiel waited patiently, knowing that he wasn't going to let either brother out of the house without doing some explaining. If there was one thing heavenly wrath was good for, it was making people talk.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for an excuse. "Wouldn't it be better if you did?"

Dean pushed himself up from the floor so that he could stand relatively eye-level with his younger brother. "Oh, no," he said, hands up defensively. "I did it last time," he reminded him, his tone so…_ off_ that Castiel began to worry about whatever it was that the brothers felt they needed to say.

"He won't lie to _you_," Sam countered.

Dean jerked his head back disbelievingly. "Oh, and as long as I ask, he's going to be under some oath of—of friggin' truth telling?"

Sam shrugged. "He likes you better?" he offered.

Dean's jaw went slack as he stared at his brother. "Low blow, you sonuvabitch," he muttered.

Sam crossed his arms and nodded toward Castiel, the universal sign for _go ahead_.

Castiel squinted at Dean in confusion, his chin tilting to one side. "What is it?" he asked.

Dean suddenly seemed entirely uncomfortable. "Uh," he stammered. "Well." He swallowed. "See, it's uh, it's complicated."

If it was at all possible, Castiel tilted his head farther to the side. "I'm fairly sure I'll be able to comprehend… whatever it is. I was able to keep everything straight during the war—both wars, actually."

"Yeah, no, I wasn't…" Dean seemed at a loss for words. "I wasn't saying you couldn't… _dammit_." The final word came out as a growl, and Dean turned so that he was facing the window that had caused him such annoyance a few moments prior.

"You're upset," Castiel realized sympathetically, albeit worriedly, and straightened out his head. What had made the brothers so uneasy?

Dean huffed out a wry laugh and ran a hand across his jaw. "You're a douchebag, Sam," he said over his shoulder.

From Castiel's right, he heard Sam echo Dean's unamused snort. "An intervention was your idea," he reminded his older brother.

Castiel's eyes widened ever so slightly at the word _intervention_, but he didn't turn away from Dean. "Tell me," he demanded. "Now."

But Dean didn't tell him. Instead, Dean spoke to the floor. "You know that uh, that day… in the house?"

Castiel squinted again. "We spend a lot of days in houses," he acknowledged the hunter.

"Yeah, we do," Dean said, as if this was a new revelation. "But I'm talking about the one where Sam was talking."

At that, Sam cut in impatiently. "He's talking about the one in Kentucky, a little over a month or so ago."

Castiel nodded. He remembered the house, if only because it was the first time Jimmy had requested that Castiel grab Dean's ass.

Dean glared at his brother. "I thought _I_ had to do this," he challenged him.

Sam did his best to appear nonchalant. "My bad," he apologized.

"Right then." Dean clasped his hands together, in a _let's get this show on the road_ motion, but his face didn't mirror the eagerness of the action. He looked tired and worn, and a little bit remorseful. In fact, his whole demeanor seemed familiar, but Castiel couldn't place it. "Little over a month. Abandoned house. Whatever," he paused, took a deep breath, then, as if he was ripping a bandaid off, rushed the next words out in a single breath, "Are you working with Crowley again?"

And Castiel placed his demeanor. It was the same as the last time Dean had confronted him about his loyalties. Just before Castiel had betrayed him.

Initially, Castiel was speechless. "Why would you think that?" he asked, more confused than anything else. What had he done to make them suspect him of such a thing?

"Answer the damn question!" Dean snapped, flinging himself around so that he was facing the angel in question once more.

Dean may have been shouting, but Sam stood quietly, arms crossed, watching the angel's reaction. He was both surprised and relieved when Castiel's face betrayed nothing but shock—and hurt.

"Of course not," Castiel hissed, taking a step toward Dean. "Do you truly think I'm stupid enough to make the same mistake twice?"

"Abaddon then?" Sam demanded, his voice surprisingly level. "Metatron? Some other jerk we don't know about?"

Castiel ignored him. "After all I've done for you—everything I've done to make up for what I did with Crowley… You still think so little of me as to think I'd do it again?"

Dean couldn't meet his eyes. "We've seen you—" he hiccuped, and it finally occurred to Castiel that the hunter might actually be shedding a tear or two over this, "—getting calls from them. I never bought the 'angel radio' crap, you know."

At that, Castiel relaxed instantly, stepping out of his offensive posture and beginning to laugh. Soon, he was bent over, laughing uncontrollably. After a moment, there was a strangely pleasant ache in his chest.

Dean looked up, surprised. "Cas?" he asked, running an ever-so-manly hand over his face. "You okay, buddy?"

Sam took a tentative step forward, but he was unsure of what to do, so he settled for simply standing where he was. "Cas?"

But Castiel didn't stop. If anything, he seemed to be laughing even harder than before.

"Shit," Dean breathed, as if he'd just had an epiphany. "Cas, are you possessed?"

The second the word left Dean's mouth, Sam retraced his steps, pulling his demon knife out of his belt, though he didn't know what good it would do him.

The knife served to remind Castiel of his surroundings though, and he began making an effort to pull himself together. He found the task oddly difficult, but managed it nonetheless. As soon as he could speak, he locked eyes with Dean. "No," he said firmly, gaze never wavering. "And I can explain."

So he did.

-o-O-o-

By the time Castiel had finished, Sam was entirely grossed out, though relieved. Dean looked like he was about to either pass out or break into dance. Castiel was indecisive as to which of Dean's reactions would be preferable.

When Dean finally began showing signs of speaking again, Sam made a beeline for the Impala, muttering something about finding some brain bleach because he'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know _exactly_ what happened next. So, in an effort to preserve his cognitive abilities, Sam fled, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

Or so he thought.

_I told you so_, Jimmy sang in Castiel's head, _I told you so, I told you so…_

This time, Castiel didn't bother with a _shut up_. He knew it wouldn't do any good.

Dean's lips found themselves curving into a mischievous grin when he noticed the familiar twitch of Castiel's cheek. "I guess Jimmy's going to be even worse now, 'ey?"

Castiel just sighed. "Insufferable," he agreed.

_All hail the almighty ass! _Jimmy crowed.


End file.
